siblings
Siblings are the only enemy you can't live without.
Poor people need luck, Rich people have Faith
Life is a chess game, and money is funny. It seems we work really hard day in, and day out just to have little things like nourishment, shelter, and God forbid a little entertainment. Sitting in class right next to people that come from money, who don’t worry about jobs, or test grades, or after school jobs, after graduation, they’re out going right to work at their families business. Who could be mad? Though sometimes you tend to look at yourself in comparison. Ironically the subject in today’s class was money management. Today was Friday, and I was ready for today to be over. I loved this class, I think it was because I truly enjoyed my professor Mr. Koové. He was brilliant, down to earth and witty. He stood maybe 5’10, dark hair that was beginning to grey from the cause of stress, but old age. He wore designer frames around his bifocals, which definitely gave him an edge, and you can tell he used to be an athlete because of his build. He stood up really straight with a presence that was felt, but not intimidating. His voice boomed, rather it was excitement, passion, or confidence it made people around him take notice. His energy radiated comfort, which made anyone around him feel invited. When I become a full fledged thriving adult,I want to be described the same way as Mr. Koové. “Tenacity!” I heard my name screamed at me by tiny voices, “Here!” I blurted, almost as a reflex. Mr. Koové looked at me and chuckled, “we are not doing role call, I asked you what are some things that could bring wealth to a poor person?” I rolled my eyes, “If I knew the answer to that, Mr. Koové I wouldn’t be sitting here with holes in the bottom of my shoes.” The class roared with laughter, but the statement almost brought tears to my eyes. From the look on the teachers face, I could see he was on the brig of tears too. He raised his hand, as to bring the class back to attention, the banter stopped immediately. Still focused on me “I’m sorry Tenacity I didn’t mean that to mock you...” Before he could finish his sentence Brittany, who sat right beside me cut him off “Mr. Koové, why don’t you ask someone who already has money that question. Like if you would have asked me, I would have said investments. She fluttered her long 28mm mink lash extensions at me, I’m sure it was because she was pleased with herself. You could smell her Marc Jacobs Daisy perfume all around her, like it has become part of her dna. I only knew the name because she made sure everyone understood that it was her ‘Signature Scent.’ Unlike me who had to make the two bottles of her bath and bodyworks body spray last until I could afford more. The smell of my body spray didn’t last till lunch. She only wore clothes that came from Pink, or lulu, like she was ready for yoga at any second. She called her jewelry pieces, so you understood that they were real without her having to make it obvious that she was bragging. She carried a matching Louis Vuitton backpack and purse to class. She parked right outside of the building in a red Gwagon that she bragged about being surprised with, just for making through the first semester here. We did not get along if it wasn’t obvious. She always made it a point to humiliate me, always giving me a reason to despise her. I finally looked away from Her back to the front of the class. Then the bell rings, and for some reason I let out a long exhale, as if I was holding my breath. “Tenacity?” I rolled my eyes, hearing my name being said in that manner means charity was coming in the next sentence and I hated charity. Being a senior in college with nothing but debt means you learn to accept a bunch of charity though. “Yes sir?” I turned slowly to meet his gaze. I have a book for you, I really hope you read it. It’s called ‘Poor people need luck, Rich people have faith.’” The title made me smirk, “I guess it’s easier to have faith when a good thing like money is at your disposal.” He chuckled and said “sometimes it’s right in the palms of our hands, and we don’t even know it.” He dropped the little black book in my hand, and walked back to his desk. “I will not be here, after Tuesday, so I suggest you read it by then, or not.” He sat back in his big black leather chair, looking really pleased with himself. Knowing Mr. Koové, I knew there was something hidden in that remark that I would catch later, but I had too many things to over analyze to let a simple remark be my priority.
By Tristyn Janai5 years ago in Families
A Recipe for Butterflies
The Bailey Twins kept to themselves. The life of a nomad is one of solitude; an isolation that can invite the most wondrous adventures, while also entertaining the trickiest of tightropes - all of which can lead its explorer astray, and lonely. It's an obstacle and a challenge that is either undertaken by the most daring adventurers who seek lives not yet lived, or it is a state of circumstance whose imposition is the adventure. For the Bailey Twins, it was one of circumstance.
By Oliver Johnson5 years ago in Families
Memories
September 28th 2006, Thursday 4:37 pm I don't talk much, I also don't make eye contact, especially with my peers. If I don't see them maybe they don't see me either. Senior year in high school isn't all that it's cracked up to be. My classes are fine and the teachers have a tendency to check on me. But the students, I can feel them staring right through me. I cower because I know I am different, I'm done trying to fit in. So I stay away.
By Shawndean Blackhorse5 years ago in Families
The Secret in the Picture
The house was so full of people that Lyn couldn’t breathe. She had to get out but couldn’t. She couldn’t just walk out. Mom would want her to stay. She would want her smile through her tears, her pain, and to comfort others in her own grief. Mom would tell her that it would help her to heal because all the people that loved her mom also loved her and Andrea. Mom had told her to help her sister, to be there for her. That she would need her help. Lyn yelled at her mom when she said that to her that day, just a couple of weeks ago.
By Myra C Lewis5 years ago in Families
Little Brother
I just hope you could know. Some girls probably know what it’s like to have a little brother. They spit, and their eyes wax often when they abash in ripped hand- me- downs. Little brother reptile shirts drip easy sweat with popsicle stains.
By Laticia Blaine Hequembourg5 years ago in Families
Sprouted
I jabbed the garlic bulb with a five-inch kitchen blade. The cloves had begun to sprout; slivers, like fingernails on wide-set digits. They darkened, lengthened and thickened: raised brown spots and a thicket of green stemmed, inching ceiling-ward until Mama told me to dice it for the chicken parmesan—my favorite, which I’d begged her to make for dinner.
By Nicole Akoukou Thompson5 years ago in Families
Always Listen
She stood there in the rain, head hung down, trying to focus her eyes in the dark on the package that he had handed her as he laid dying. It was very small and lightweight, wrapped in waxed brown paper and tied with a string. She quickly stuffed it under her coat as she scurried back to her car. After sliding back into the driver’s seat, she placed the package in her glove compartment.
By Carolyn Fields5 years ago in Families
April Holiday
Six months after the mass suicides April received a cardboard box full of her twin brother’s personal effects from the police. She ignored it for a week, things accumulating in piles around it on the counter as she tried to make sense of her sudden inheritance. She opened the box the same morning she stared at the sun. The six-shooter was inside, sealed up in an evidence bag with her brother’s name and case number written on it in black marker. March Holiday. March and April. They’d been born thirteen minutes apart on either side of midnight and Dad had always had a sense of humor. Mom didn’t make it. Happy Birthday. April Fools.
By J. Otis Haas5 years ago in Families
